kid quotes

Ivar was so excited for his friends Lily and Clara to come for a play date, he set the table for them 24 hours before their arrival. He was meticulous about the seating arrangement, who got what color plate and spoon and spent a lot of time moving things around. So for 24 hours before Lily and Clara came, we ate at the card table. Because there was no way we were going to move those dishes set with such love and care.

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Quotes I wrote down recently:
*Ivar said, "Hey Elsie, I'm going to eat this yogurt, not you. Because I need it to grow big and strong so that if you need to reach something, I can help you. Okay, so that's why this last yogurt is mine."

*Ivar yelled in the Target parking lot "Elsie! If you don't hold Mama's hand a car will hit you and your skin will rip off and you'll be red forever. Do you want to be red forever? No!"

*Ivar told Rory while getting ready in the morning: "If I was in the toilet and you were going poopy and flushed the toilet, I would go to heaven!"

*Grandma Groves died in December. She was our last living grandparent between Rory and me. Her life story is epic, and we talked a lot about why daddy went to California with his brothers and mom and dad for her funeral. As a result, a lot of conversations were had about death and Jesus.
Ivar: I don't want to die. Ever.
Becca: Oh Ivar, are you thinking about that? You don't have to worry about that. Ever. Because we love Jesus we will live forever.
Ivar: Mom, I just.... I just... I just want two buns with mayonnaise on them!

what 'presence' looks like

On January 30th I sat down during nap time and wrote out what I think applying my one-little-word, Presence, looks like. And I came up with four goals related to this word:
          -Enjoy God's Presence
          -Listen to my husband with better attention, pray together at night
          -Be present for my kids
          -Recognize my own presence: am I hurried or peaceful

And then I made another list. I titled it:
           Life really would be better if I:
          -moved the laptop upstairs and kept it there
          -checked facebook only weekly
          -did my exercise dvd with some regularity
          -woke up for a quiet time before the kids
          -went to bed/took a bath around 9:30
          -ate Paleo again
          -played more with art stuff
          -read more during the day, not just at night

I sat there, decided it was a good list and knew I had to move my laptop upstairs right that moment. Not even wait until the 1st. Facebook is my greatest hurdle for being present to my own life. I don't have it on my phone, just my laptop. So I moved the computer up to the playroom. The next morning, as I made chili, I became acutely aware of how addicted I have become. Because all throughout the meal prep I wandered over to the corner of the counter that used to hold my laptop. And I wasn't sure why I was there.

I was like a lost puppy who had trained herself to check her facebook as a reward to unloading the top of the dishwasher. To check her instagram when she finished unloading the silverware holder. To google recipe questions, and since she was there, check her email (and facebook and instagram), and often forget entirely why she hopped back on her computer in the first place. I was addicted. And it was comical and sad to see the physical manifestation of this addiction as I made our chili. Time and again I'd find myself standing my the microwave, confused as to why I was there.

But facebook is a sneaky little devil, and I know that even a physical change wasn't going to relieve me of facebook the way I know I need to be rescued. So I asked Rory to change my password with the plan that he will log me in one time on the weekend and I can get caught up on all the animal videos, divisive 5-reasons-why articles and occasional actual life updates that I can handle.

These computer boundaries are huge for me. And I'm excited at the thought of a less-distracted, more-focused, present life.

I've lived with no facebook plan for a few days now, and what is most interesting is how bored I feel. I'm trying not to dismiss it and trying really hard to creatively fill it. Already I've been reading during the day. My workout video is an actual time filler between lunch and nap time/quiet play time. I've even gotten out my art journal and doodled the little picture above while the kids watercolor painted. There are moments I miss the convenience of feeling so connected, but even a few days in, my days feel filled with more intention. And that feels way better.

an ice globe!

I've been playing some more with the ice luminaries. If you live anywhere where the thermometer dips below 32, you've got to give this a shot. I can't explain how satisfying it is to make something so pretty out of a season that is so seriously cold. I had told my nieces that when life gives you sub zero temperatures, you make ice globes. My sister-in-law Sara called these luminaries 'a protest of beauty' and that is exactly how I feel about them. It feels so right to be making something awesome out of this very cold weather.

So the first time I tried making an ice globe, I got bowls, because half of the balloon was insulated in the snow. It wasn't what I was going for, but I loved them. They were magical all lit up at night. But I still wanted to attempt the dome thing. So this time I filled a huge water ballon again and set it on a kitchen tray out in the driveway.

I set it out there for four hours at -5 degrees. And when I came back I could feel that it was solid enough to cut open. I'll have to get this next part on video because it was so awesome, but when I cut into the balloon that little air pocket at the top (visible in the first picture of the purple balloon above) spurted like a fountain, and all of the water inside gushed out. The balloon slinked back and the rest of the water inside the ice (that hadn't frozen yet) fell out of the bottom.

But I knew I had a success, because I had a globe, and a chimney! I hadn't been able to figure out how I was going to drill a hole into the top of the dome for the candle to breathe, but that little tiny bit of air left in the water balloon when I filled it was enough to make the ice in that top spot that much weaker, so that the water chose to burst out right there.

I have a dream of lining our driveway or something with a whole bunch of these. Or a tiered little art piece? If we had a deck, I'd line the rail. Or...build a Chili Snow Fort around the picnic table with these lighting the meal. Could you imagine?!!

an ode to the mothers of wintertime

On Sunday I was running into Fleet Farm behind Rory and Ivar. I had Elsie on the hip, my purse and a caribou coffee. Elsie kept sliding down because our poof jackets are both so slippery. And as I hobbled towards the store, waving with my coffee to the car that stopped for me, I had this swell of Minnesota pride. I thought, “dang. we are seriously tough in this state.” My cheeks were frozen, Elsie was gasping for air and we finally made it into the warm store. I must have made some sort of whooping sound, because people were looking at me when I walked in. I smiled and wanted to celebrate with them, "Hello! I made it!"

Rory and Ivar were already pushing through the aisles, and Elsie insisted she sit in the big part of our cart. She quickly took off her boots, coat, hat, hair bow and made herself at home. And it was then that I discovered that a kids boot, up in the front basket snug between a big purse and the side of the cart, makes for a perfectly stable coffee cup holder.

There are some things only the mothers of wintertime know. Discovering this kids-boot-turned-coffee-cozy made me feel like I had found yet another secret survival skill for these bitter cold days.

Then today I put a picture up on Instagram of our barn, nearly invisible at 2 pm because of the blizzard that was happening in our farm yard. We get awesome drifts here because there is no grove where the main barn used to be. The wind was incredible, and just as I posted this picture, someone posted a picture of their feet in flip flops out for a walk with their kid in a stroller.

The two images side by side struck me dumb. For I haven't been out of the house since Sunday, the day we went to Fleet Farm. I've been hibernating, attempting to do my workout video with two eager exercise helpers ("mom, you're supposed to touch your toes. like she does it."), cooking stew, creamy pastas and soup. Seeing this other picture reminded me that some people raise their children in milder climates. Some people take their kids for walks wearing flip flops on January 8th.

But then I remembered the lesson from Sunday, and came to one helpful conclusion: you can't make a coffee-cozy out of a flip flop.

Add that to the pros list of living in the snowy-blowy land of winter.

Obviously none of this is meant to discredit any mom raising their kids in warmer climates. Motherhood is a ride no matter what the weather. I'm just here to say for the record: the mothers of wintertime are tough stuff.

part 2: brightening the night

There is more to the story about the night we delivered thank you notes for beautiful christmas light displays. And it was only after I was telling my friends Jon and Ali that I realized how worthy of a second blog post that night actually was.

Because it actually went down like this. The second house we stopped at had it's curtains pulled, but I was spotted walking to the door. So I felt obligated to ring the doorbell, lest they think I'm creepy. Everyone inside yelled, "Come in! It's open! Come on in!" I think they thought I was someone else. When I did open the door I had to talk fast because there was a dad on the couch getting his hair gelled in every direction by three middle school girls. He said, "Like my hair?" And the boys on the couch all laughed. I had walked into some family gathering of cousins and kids and a dad with awesome hair. And then I had to explain myself, "Hi. I'm out with my kids tonight and they loved your christmas lights, so we wrote this little note..." They were gracious and I was quick to exit.

I got back to the car and told Rory about the cousin party and he was growing in his own discomfort of this whole thank you note idea. He said, "you can't ring the doorbell. Just tape the note and leave."

So the next house I did that. But again I was spotted, so by the time I got back to the car, the lady had her body half out her front door, "Can I help you?!!" "Oh, right. I just taped a little thank you note for your pretty christmas lights. I'm out with my family and my kids really loved your big tree..."

The next house I was ready. I would tape and leave. Tape it and leave.

This house was close to ours, out in the country. It was kind of a cabin style house with a driveway that made a horse shoe all the way around the back side. I walked to the front door, closest to the road. But it seemed more like a back porch. Rory agreed and drove me to the back of the house, where we saw a little patio that led to sliding glass doors. I got out, walked onto the patio and knocked on the glass.

And then I processed what my eyes were seeing.

I was gazing into a master bedroom. The closet was wide open. And so was the master bathroom, where a woman stood in panty hoes and a shirt, curling her hair.

A huge dog was barking on the other side of the sliding door and an adult daughter was trying to wrestle it into the hallway to close it out so she could open the door to let me in.

And I just had to stand there, processing all that I was peeping into, while slowly acknowledging in my head, "Rory was so right. He was so right. Tape it and Leave." But there I was.

The daughter opened the door and the mom came to the door too. And I started up my sorry story, "Hi, my kids and I are out for a drive looking at christmas lights, and they love yours on your house and wanted you to have this award..."

I used the word award. Because it seemed a bigger deal, necessitating my standing on their back patio that looked into their bedroom on a dark winters night.

And maybe it was because she was in her nylons getting ready for a fun party, or maybe it was because my pitch was so awkward, or maybe it was because she just wanted me off of her deck, but this lady acted so grateful and pleased at the award she had just won. By my two and four year old.

I got in the car and told Rory to, "drive. now. please."

And he didn't laugh nearly as hard as I did. His discomfort was palpable.

But I still got one more house out of him. We drove up to a dark house, except for the stunning outline in colorful lights all around the roof lines. I walked up to the unlit front door, confident no one was home. And as I taped the envelope to the door of this isolated country front door, the large dog that I hadn't noticed woke up beside me, stood tall and started to sniff me out. And I graciously explained to him, "I'm just leaving this award on your door, because we like your lights and I'm going to leave, see, I'm leaving, so..."

And then I told Rory we could call it a night.

Oh we have laughed about this. I still stand by this idea as a quality one. It's got some kinks to be sure, but I still think it's novel and fun.

And now when we drive past the house with the horse shoe driveway Rory tells us all to, "wave to mrs. pantyhose, kids!"